


You Could Be the Death of Me

by hereliesnils



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Kissing, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex, emotional hurt/comfort if you squint, this is so stupid but I couldn't resist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24630802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereliesnils/pseuds/hereliesnils
Summary: Mark Hoffman meets a man in a bar.
Relationships: Mark Hoffman/Peter Strahm
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36





	You Could Be the Death of Me

Mark was only two drinks deep when the man sat down at the bar. He was handsome, there was no denying that, but his lips were pressed together and his brow was tight with the beginnings of a frown. It was the expression of a man who spent a lot of time exasperated and never stopped expecting it. That and his dark suit gave Mark an idea of the kind of man he was. His hair threw him off; it was almost boyish with soft waves hanging over his forehead like he'd been a little roughed up. 

The man slung his suit jacket over the empty stool between them and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Mark couldn't help but suck his lower lip into his mouth as he watched the steady unveiling of pale skin and dark hair until the cuffs sat tight just below his elbows. Mark looked back down at his near empty glass and tried to ignore the way the man stretched his arms above his head and groaned. With a sharp tilt of his head and a single gulp he finished the last of his drink and slammed the glass to the bar. 

“Long day?” the man said. 

“You could say that,” Mark said without looking up, “you?”

“Yeah,” the man said, “long day.”

“What are you drinking?” Mark said. He blamed it on that last gulp of alcohol, and not those light eyes looking back at him from across the empty stool. 

“Whatever you're having.”

The man waited for the two glasses to hit the bar before he spoke again.

“So how do you spend your long days?” he said.

Mark picked up his drink and swilled it, biding time while he decided whether to lie or not. He took a sip, made his mind up, and pulled his badge out of his pocket. The man regarded it without a hint of surprise. 

“I can do better than that,” he said. 

He reached into his own pocket and flashed a badge at hip level. FBI. Shit. Mark took a longer swig of his drink. 

“You know, I thought you might be a cop,” the man said. 

“Oh yeah? What else did you think?” Mark said. It was a taunt. 

The man waited for the bartender to pass them before he leant closer.

“I thought you looked at me like you wanted me,” he said.

Mark went back to swilling his drink.

“Correct,” he said into his glass. 

“What's your name?” the man said. 

“Mark, yours?”

“Peter. Are we doing this?”

“I'm game.”

He necked his drink and watched Peter from the corner of his eye as he did the same. 

“I'm parked out back, are you?” Mark said.

“You're not gonna drive?” Peter pointed at the empty glass in front of him. 

“How did you get here?”

“I took a cab!”

Mark looked back at him with barely concealed disgust.

“What?” Peter said. 

“I'm driving. You're shotgun.”

Peter followed him outside, down the sidewalk, and into the alley next to the bar, where he came to an abrupt stop. Mark looked back to see him stood still with his mouth pressed tight and his eyebrows descending into a frown. 

“I don't think it's a good idea for a Special Agent and Detective to drive home drunk,” he said.

“But you do think it's a good idea for a Special Agent to go home with a Detective and get fucked senseless,” Mark said. 

Peter balked at that. It took a second for him to reply.

“What makes you think I'm gonna let you fuck me?” he spat. 

Mark walked to him with slow, measured steps, and only stopped when they were inches apart. He could see the effort Peter was making to look him dead in the eye, and decided to play dirty. He pressed his hand against the small of Peter's back and shunted their bodies together in one sharp movement. 

“You think this is going any other way?” he said.

“Fuck you,” Peter said. His hands came up to cradle Mark's jaw with his fingertips resting on his cheeks.

Mark surged forward to kiss him. Peter opened his mouth without a moment's hesitation and the kiss deepened into something desperate and filthy, with his hands clamped to Mark's face like he couldn't bear to let go. Mark ran one hand through Peter's hair and let the other slide down to tease between his shirt and waistband. Peter let out a muffled moan and Mark was certain he felt him shiver, just for a second. Without breaking the kiss, he moved his hands to Peter's hips and walked him backwards against the wall. 

“You want it here? If you don't want me to drive?” Mark pushed a knee between Peter's thighs.

“No,” Peter's breath was hot against his lips, "take me home."

Mark withdrew every part of his body at once and took a firm step back. To his amusement, Peter slid a good few inches down the wall before he caught himself and pushed up from his buckled knees.

“Let's go,” Mark said.

****

Peter spent the short drive running his hand up and down Mark's thigh. Whenever they hit a stretch of uninterrupted road, Mark would let go of the gearstick and reach over to reciprocate, unable to stop himself from smirking at the way Peter's breath hitched when his fingers brushed higher. 

Peter's apartment building was less of a shithole than Mark's, but not by a great margin. He didn't pay much attention to the inside, only the furniture they had to navigate as they kissed their way to the bedroom with their hands twisted in each other's shirts. They fell to the bed, where Mark sunk down between Peter's spread thighs and ground against him. Peter ran his hands over Mark's broad chest, then hooked his thumbs under his suspenders to push them past his shoulders. When his arms were free, Mark slid a hand underneath Peter to grab his ass. The way he lifted his hips and locked his legs around Mark's waist in one deft movement told him he had done this before, but the tremor in his thighs told him it might have been some time.

“Is this how you want it?” Mark punctuated his words with an open mouthed kiss and a rake of his teeth against Peter's throat. Peter threw his arms around Mark's neck to hold him there. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, "fuck me."

Mark lifted his head to look him in the eye. 

“I knew that's what you wanted from the moment I saw you.”

“You're a fucking liar,” Peter said. 

“You're a fucking slut,” Mark said. 

“Fucker,” Peter said and pulled him into a kiss. 

He had to force Peter's legs apart to give himself space to unfasten and tug down his pants. He felt Peter shifting under him as he tried to do the same without parting their lips. They were a mess of arms and legs and fabric, then came the sensation of their naked thighs brushing together, and that only spurred them on to claw at each other's ties and shirts in a frenzy. Their fingers dragged through the hair on each other's chests, ran along their jaws, and groped taut muscle and soft flesh. Mark kissed Peter's neck until Peter dragged him up to suck on his lower lip and pull it between his teeth. 

“Fuck me,” he said, again, with an edge of frustration in his voice. 

“I like hearing you beg,” Mark said.

Peter alternated between whispers of “fucker” and “bastard” as Mark slipped his fingers under the waistband of his underwear and tugged them down. Peter was a good size, thick, but not as big as him. Mark watched Peter's face as he stripped himself of his underwear, and took great pleasure in the way his eyes widened and his lips parted.

“God,” Peter said. 

He pivoted onto his hands, and for a second Mark thought he was going to run away. Instead, Peter leant over the bed, rifled through the nightstand and emerged with a bottle of lube.

They sat face to face with their legs spread, Peter's resting over Mark's, and kissed as they ran their palms over each other, with Peter taking care to slick every inch of Mark's cock. Mark made the call that enough was enough, and tipped Peter back until they were in the same position as before. 

“You've gotta-” Peter started.

“I know,” Mark said. He was already pushing the tip of two fingers where Peter needed them. 

He had Peter pressing back on the full length of three fingers before he took his thighs in his hands, aligned their hips, and eased inside him. Peter threw his head back and moaned. It took a moment for them to adjust to the intensity, then Mark began to move. 

“Oh fuck,” Peter gasped.

A shiver passed through him, undeniable this time, and Mark tugged on his hair to elicit another. Peter's arms slid back around his neck, and Mark's mouth was at his throat, biting and licking and kissing as the obscene sound of skin slapping skin filled the room.

“Harder!” Peter's voice was deeper, raw, like he had already been screaming for hours.

Without breaking his rhythm Mark hitched Peter's knees up close to his shoulders, almost folding him in two. Peter let out a wordless shout, then another, then another, his hands coming up to claw at Mark's biceps as he drove into him again and again, deeper than before.

“That hard enough?” Mark panted.

The only reply was a strangled moan.

“Answer me.”

For a second, he thought it might be too much, that he might be hurting him, then he watched as Peter's eyes rolled up into his head. 

“So good, so fucking good, don't stop, please Mark, god, don't stop-!” 

His voice broke on another shout. Mark felt the shudder that tore through Peter's body and the bite of his nails digging into his skin. Peter came hard, streaking his own stomach as Mark held him in place and fucked him through it.

"Mark-" Peter bit his lip and writhed, "come inside me."

“Fuck, Peter,” Mark choked out. 

His grip on Peter's legs tightened and his last few thrusts were ferocious. He growled deep in his throat with his head bowed low enough to savour the faint whimpers Peter couldn't contain. 

Mark rolled onto his back and let his chest heave. He turned his head to see Peter splayed and panting next to him. His legs were trembling with the most intense aftershocks Mark had ever seen. 

“You okay?” he said.

Peter swallowed and reached out to grasp Mark's forearm.

“Still alive?”

Peter nodded. 

“Gonna fall asleep?”

Another nod and a squeeze of his arm. 

For the first time in a long time, Mark drifted off to sleep without the room spinning around him.  


****

It was still dark when Mark jolted awake with a gasp and images of a blood-soaked bed clear in his mind. His heart was beating fast and he could feel a sheen of sweat breaking out over his whole body. With every second that passed, he sunk back into the room, grounding himself in the warm bed with Peter's head near his shoulder. 

“Hey,” Peter said, “you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Mark said. 

He didn't expect Peter to reach up to run a soothing hand over his forehead, and for reasons he would never interrogate he pulled away from his touch with a grunt. 

“Bad dream?” Peter said. Persistent bastard. 

“Yeah. Go back to sleep.”

“You go back to sleep.”

He didn't answer, and he didn't push Peter away when he wrapped his arms around his waist and nestled close.

This time, he fell asleep with his cheek pressed to Peter's hair.

****

They woke in the morning to the shrill and incessant beep of Mark's watch. 

“Oh shit,” Peter groaned, “you got work?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Not today.”

“Lucky bastard.”

Mark went to turn off the alarm but found his arm pinned under Peter's body. Peter's arms were still curled tight around his waist with his face buried in his neck. Without prompting, he reached up and turned it off for him. 

“Thanks,” Mark said. 

He waited for Peter to move away, but the hand that had lifted to his watch slipped back under the covers. Mark felt Peter's fingers close around him and start to stroke. 

“I gotta get up,” Mark said. 

“Feels like you're already up.”

“Are you trying to get me fired?”

“No, I'm trying to get you off.”

“Okay, wise guy,” Mark tipped Peter onto his back and ground against him. 

Peter took a sharp intake of breath and let it out in a shaky sigh. He matched Marks' rhythm, rocking his hips to meet him, and kissed his way up his neck. With Peter moaning low in his ear, Mark reached down to wrap his hand around them both, with his thumb curled against his cock and his fingers against Peter's, and squeezed with every roll of their hips. 

“Oh,” was all Peter said, deep and broken. 

“Not so smart now.” 

“Fuck you,” Peter said, but there was a catch of a laugh in his voice. He sunk his fingers into Marks' hair and eased him down into a kiss. 

Mark came with his tongue in Peter's mouth, and felt as much as heard Peter's strained moan when he followed. They were both hot and slick over his fingers, and he kept moving until he felt Peter grip his wrist. He sat up, flicked his hand, and looked around the bedroom.

“Just use the sheets,” Peter said. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah they're-” Peter gestured broadly, “fucked.”

“Like you.”

Peter laughed with his arm flung over his face and Mark thought he could hear him say his name. He left him lying there as he picked up his scattered clothes from the floor. It was only when he started to pull on his shoes that Peter clambered to his feet. 

“Don't you wanna take shower?” he said.

“No, I need to go home and change,” Mark spread his arms wide to showcase the state of his wrinkled clothes. There were at least two buttons missing from his shirt. Peter smiled and walked around the bed to close the distance between them. 

“Too bad,” he said, “maybe next time.”

Mark shrugged. 

“No?” Peter said. 

Mark pulled on his jacket without saying a word.

“I had a good time,” Peter said. 

“So did I,” Mark said. 

It surprised him when Peter took his jaw in a firm hand and pressed a brief but forceful kiss to his lips.

“See you around, Mark.”

“Yeah. See you around, Peter.”

****

“Open the door, you will find me.”

“What?”

The key hit him in the chest. So that was how it was going to be.

**Author's Note:**

> I realise this implies everything Peter did in Saw V was because Mark didn't call him. I regret nothing. 
> 
> The title is inspired by Death of Me by PVRIS and the last lines of dialogue are from Saw IV.


End file.
